


And Past, And Future, And I Born Too

by missalline



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hidden Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Pregnancy, Teen Pregnancy, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missalline/pseuds/missalline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her words shock them both out of their morning routine. Sherlock's head rises as he looks up at her from behind his paper, and John's eyes flick back and forth between them, toast and jam frozen halfway to his mouth.</p>
<p>"I'm pregnant."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the lovely http://iristalita.tumblr.com/

Her words shock them both out of their morning routine. Sherlock's head rises as he looks up at her from behind his paper, and John's eyes flick back and forth between them, toast and jam frozen halfway to his mouth.

  


"I'm pregnant."

 

***************

  


"I'm not usually like this," Molly Hooper protested weakly as the young man pulled her through the woods, "I mean, I've never done this before..."

  


He stopped abruptly and spun, pulling her into his arms. His other hand came up and he lifted her chin with his fingers. The kiss didn't surprise her, but the softness and gentleness with which he kissed compared to the rest of the situation shocked her. "Would you like to stop?" he whispered, dark eyes reflecting the firelight that managed to make its way through the trees.

  


"No."

***************

Sherlock had been hurt on a chase through London. Not realizing that the people following him only intended to help him out of his hopeless situation, the runaway teen had retaliated by firing three frantic shots from his stolen gun. Two of them hit Sherlock in the stomach, and the third grazed his side.

  


He was in surgery for 16 hours.

  


The hospital staff wouldn't tell John anything. 'Only family' they said, which presented quite a problem as Mycroft was out of the country. That is, until Molly showed up around hour eight. "I heard on the news," she mumbled, then proceeded to tell John exactly what Sherlock's condition was.

  


"How'd you get them to tell you anything?" John asked, confused, "They said they can't, cause I'm not family." She looked caught, like a deer in the headlights. "Molly..." he pressed, begging in his tone, "Please."

She finally shook her head slightly. "I can't tell you," she whispered, "It's not my place." He opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Hudson had burst into the room and John became distracted with keeping her calm.

***************

  


"We're far enough away," he said a few minutes later, wasting no time as he pressed her against a tree and pulled her leg over his hip, "Last chance to change your mind."

  


"I don't want to." Instead, she grabbed his head with both of her hands and kissed him soundly, tangling her fingers in his dark curls.  That sealed the decision for both of them.

  


He wasn't rough, exactly, it was more that he was just... not gentle. But it felt good. It felt really good, and Molly responded as best as she could. She didn't realize until after, when he had run off with barely a breath goodbye that she realized the three things that would have stopped her. One, looking back on how he acted, he had obviously been high (well, maybe she'd noticed that one and decided to ignore it,); two, she didn't even know his name; three, and scariest of all, he hadn't worn a condom.

  
***************

John didn't see Molly again until Sherlock had woken up. She came in after her shift to check on him, excusing her presence in the room with an offer to get things from 221B.

  


"No, thank you," Sherlock dismissed her coldly, "I'm sure we can manage."

  


"O-okay," she stuttered. She stayed for an awkward moment longer, looking like she wanted to say something else then deciding against it, before mumbling a goodbye and hurrying away.

  


"That was rude," John chastised him the moment Molly was out of earshot.

  


"She's used to it," Sherlock said, tone clearly conveying that that was the last he would say on the subject.

  


That didn't, however, stop John from pondering.

  


***************

Molly felt like shit. She was sore in new places, she had to go home soon and act like nothing had changed, and she was terrified.

  


'How could I be so stupid?' she asked herself constantly, 'I'm a smart girl.' She didn't really regret the sex (she sort of regretted the sex), but she hated herself for how she had handled it. During the single (supremely awkward) conversation that she's had with her mother on the subject Molly had promised that she would use protection when the time came, and she hadn't.

  


But there was nothing to be done now, so she went home and prayed. She went to school and prayed. She ate and prayed; slept and prayed; woke and prayed; continuously, she prayed. For weeks her mind was in turmoil, worried and terrified and feeling so ashamed.

  


Until the day the stick turned pink, and all of her thoughts stopped.

  


***************

Sherlock signed himself out of the hospital a few days later.  His doctors argued, but Sherlock would not be swayed, and John knew better than to try and stop him.

“Who should I call to come over?” John asked after getting Sherlock settled on the sofa in their flat a few days later.

  


“You don’t need to call anyone,” he answered, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself for the five hours you’ll be at work.”

  


“Oh, that’s a laugh,” John huffed, “You can barely take care of yourself when you aren’t injured. At the very least someone needs to be here to keep you from jumping up and running about.”

Sherlock glared at him, mouth set in a stubborn line.

  


“Fine,” John snapped a moment later, “Don’t have a say in it then.”  He stormed off to his room to change for work, calling Molly on the way.

***************

Her mum was the one who found her, sitting on the bathroom floor and staring dumbly at the plastic stick in her hand.  “Oh, love,” she said comfortingly, wrapping her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, “It’ll be okay.”

  


“How?” Molly whispered, fighting back tears, “I’m pregnant. I- I don’t even know who he _is_.”   In that moment the reality of the situation hit her, and Molly burst into tears.

***************

John met Molly at the foot of the stairs. “He’s been driving me crazy,” he vented quietly, “Good luck.”

  


Molly waited a moment after John had left, working up the courage to climb the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you catch any mistakes so that I might fix them.

   ****

Neither of them say anything when she walks in; they just look at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

“Is John gone?” he quietly asks. Molly nods dumbly, not moving another muscle.  Sherlock waits for a split second longer, then reaches his hands out to her. “Molly,” he says, voice breaking.

She’s at his side in an instant, dropping to her knees and grabbing his hand in both of her own.  “Sherlock,” she sobs, the damn finally breaking, “I thought I was going to lose you.” She keeps crying, and his shirt grows damp from her tears.

“Molly,” he whispers soothingly while his other hand reached over his body awkwardly to stroke her hair, “Molly.”

\-------

She falls asleep kneeling next to him. Sherlock keeps hold of her hands, not at all willing to let go. “I’m sorry,” he tells her when she wakes up, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she assures him, shaking her head, “Everything’s fine.” Molly smiles and leans in to kiss him, a gesture which he returns wholeheartedly.

“Come home,” she begs when they break apart, a phrase she’s uttered for what feels like thousands of times.

Sherlock shakes his head and returns his gaze to the ceiling.“I can’t go back to that flat.”

“Sherlock...” she sighs, preparing herself for (another) argument.

“No,” he snaps, “I can’t Molly.”

“Why not?” she asked softly.

“Because the kitchen will never be anything but the place where I hit you; Em’s room will always be where I terrified her and made her cry.” He stops and squeezes Molly’s hand begging her to understand. “That flat only holds bad memories for us; I can’t go back there.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

\---------

“Molly is going to be moving in,” Sherlock announces later that evening before John even has a chance to remove his coat.  Molly had left about an hour ago, and Sherlock had just been staring at the door waiting to make his declaration.

John freezes, utterly stunned.  “Excuse me?” he asks, sure that he had heard wrong.

“Molly is going to be moving in,” Sherlock repeated, much more slowly. “Do I need to say it a third time?” he sneers.

John was, frankly, dumbfoundead. This was completely unexpected. “Why?” he finally asks, shock clear in his voice.

“Because I want her here.”

\---------

Molly settles into 221B quickly. John had assumed that three people wouldn’t fit in the flat, but Molly really doesn't  take up much space. She shares Sherlock’s room and bed (much to John’s surprise,) and keeps her things confined to a few specific places.

Considering how happy Sherlock is (for the time being), John didn’t mind at all

\---------

It takes a little over a month for things to start to get very tense. John is honestly surprised it takes that long. He’s been living with Sherlock for years and the man still manages to get on his nerves constantly. But Molly, she just seems so... used to it, like she’d already been living with him for decades (not that that was possible).

The cause of the argument was one-hundred percent Sherlock’s fault. He and John had suddenly gone out of town for a case and were gone for three days. Molly was livid when they came back.

“Three days!” she yelled, “You were gone for three days, Sherlock!”

“I’ve been gone for longer,” he retaliates with the audacity to imply that  that was a legitimate argument.  

“That doesn’t make it okay!”  She snaps, shaking with the force of her fury. “If you’re going to be gone for longer than six hours you have to let me know you’re okay!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is not,” she snarls through clenched teeth, angry tears threatening to fall  “You are constantly putting yourself in dangerous situations, Sherlock. Be thankful I don’t make you check in every six minutes.” With that she turns and storms to their room, slamming the door behind her. The closed door doesn’t do a very good job of muffling her sobs.

“She’s right,” John says from where he’s been standing awkwardly in the corner, “You’re in a relationship now; you can’t just think about yourself anymore.”

Sherlock acts as if he hadn’t heard John speak. “She never used to yell,” he mumbles to himself, staring after her.

“What was that?” John asks, hoping Sherlock would explain and give some insight into the odd, and surprisingly well-established, relationship that he and Molly seem to have.

“Nothing,” he dismisses over his shoulder as he starts toward his and Molly’s room, “It was nothing.”

****  


***********

She is violently ill for a week after the test reads positive. “Morning sickness,” her mom says, but Molly thinks it’s more shock than anything. She takes the time curled up in bed or around the toilet to think. She knows her family isn’t in the best situation financially, she knows that becoming a single mother at her age has the potential to royally fuck up her life, she know that people will look down on her, but she wants it. She can’t figure out why, but she wants this thing growing inside her.

“Would you hate me if I kept it?” Molly asks softly when her dad comes in to bring her soup.

“Oh, Molly, love,” he says soothingly, reaching out to stroke her hair, “We could never hate you.”

Molly closes her eyes to prevent herself from crying and nods a few times. ‘Well,’ she thinks, ‘that’s the decision made, then.’

When she feels well enough she does some calculations in her head. Assuming the baby doesn’t decide to come early she should be able to have it during summer holiday and not miss any of part of the term on either side of it. ‘Guess I’m a bit lucky, then,’ she thinks, ‘Mum stays home most days and, I’ll just have to take it to class with me when she doesn’t.’

As it turns out, childcare isn’t a problem. Neither is money, or supplies, or everything else Molly and her parents were worrying about. And all because one day, just after Molly has really started to show, there’s a knock on their door. Her father answers cautiously because it was not a normal sounding knock; instead of the hollow thuds of knuckles on wood, it was a series of short, sharp raps. “Can I help you?” he asks gruffly of the posh young man on the other side of the door.

“Mr. Hooper,” the man says, clicking a pocket watch shut and tucking it away, “My name is Mycroft. May I come in?”

 


End file.
